


Wet T-Shirt

by fannyvonfabulus



Category: Jeremy Renner - Fandom
Genre: F/M, I had a lot of feels that day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 04:36:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannyvonfabulus/pseuds/fannyvonfabulus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s tired, you’re tired, you've missed each other, there’ll be tears before bedtime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wet T-Shirt

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know where the fuck in my brain this came from. My lovely beta (and wife) bennysemma suggests that it was my inner Mamma Bear after looking at the Vienna pictures again. Think she may be right.   
> I'd also like to thank her for wrangling my writing into something coherent enough to submit and for adding in some of her own awesomeness.
> 
> I just had a lot of feels the day i wrote this, K?
> 
> Originially posted over on the Renner Obsession board on LJ

“Pickle, what’s wrong?” I asked as he lay on the sofa, his head in my lap as he stared at the ceiling. 

“Nothing,” was his glazed, distant response. I didn’t push for more. He could be stubborn as hell; if he didn’t want to tell me, he wouldn’t. I’d learned that if I waited it out, though, let him work out his thoughts, he’d eventually open up. So I stroked his hair away from his forehead in slow movements as he continued to stare straight ahead at nothing in particular.  His hair had grown like crazy since I’d last seen him nearly a month ago.  It had seemed like longer than that.  Much longer.

After a few more minutes of silence, he brought his hands up to his face and disappeared behind them, pressing his fingers into his eye sockets.  He took a huge breath and sighed loudly.  I carried on stroking his hair while my other hand rested on his stomach, my fingers making their way between the panels of his shirt to find his skin.  It was a moment before I realised that his breath had quickened and he was trembling slightly.  It was another moment before he started to sob uncontrollably, his entire body shuddering as he kept his face hidden behind his hands.  Turning onto his side he wrapped himself around me, burying his face in my belly and pulling the material of my t-shirt around his features with both his hands.  His legs came up so that his knees were almost behind my back and I gathered him to me with both arms while he sobbed.  I rubbed his back while he cried, never questioning why.  This had obviously been brewing for a while and I just had to let him cry it out.

It always unsettled me when he did this.  In the whole four years we’d been together, this was only the third time it had happened.  To suddenly have this strong, utterly fearless man become a sobbing wreck in my lap was something I didn’t think I’d ever get used to.  Suddenly it was _me_ who had to be the strong one; who became his rock, the pair of arms he found safety and solace in.

The first time I’d seen him fall apart was after his dog Franklin had died.  He’d been away when it had happened, and when he’d got home late into the night he’d crawled into bed, burrowed into my arms and sobbed his heart out while I’d wrapped myself around him.  I hadn’t known what to say or do except hold him tightly until his tears had stopped. 

The second time was after I’d said yes to his marriage proposal.  I’d woken up while he was in the kitchen making coffee and pancakes, my favourite.  When he’d come back he’d gotten down on one knee next to the bed, hair sleep-ruffled and eyes warm and drowsy, and quietly asked “Marry me?”  I’d said yes, tears in my eyes.  He’d jumped up and down on the bed like an excited child, shouting and whooping.  When I’d finally managed to pull him down to me, he’d started crying.  Happy tears this time, but they were still sobs that shook his whole body.

This time, I wasn’t sure what was wrong.  He’d only walked through the door a few hours before, after nearly a month in Europe promoting Bourne.  He’d picked me up, thrown me on the sofa and had his wicked way with me.  We hadn’t even bothered getting completely undressed; such was our desire to get at each other.  I knew he’d been working like a madman lately.  In fact he’d barely had any time off at all in the past two years, working hard so that when we got married he could take all the time off he wanted.  He’d said that he wanted to start married life like he meant to go on – just the two of us and the puppies, doing whatever the fuck we wanted, whenever we wanted.  He didn’t want to have to jet off to another film set a week after we’d tied the knot.  It was hard being apart for so long and so often but we both knew that in a few weeks, it would all have been worth it.

His sobs slowly quietened down and became rasping whimpers but he stayed curled up around me.  I carried on stroking his back and eventually, I saw an eye appear from behind a clenched fist that held my now soaking wet t-shirt.  I smiled into the blue-green, the eyelashes wet and clumped together. 

Slowly, more of his face appeared, his breath still coming in stuttered gasps as he wiped his eyes on the only dry bit of t-shirt he could find.  He loosed his grip on the fabric and instead wrapped his arms around me, keeping his cheek pressed against my stomach as he looked up at me.  The whites of his eyes were bloodshot, contrasting starkly against the blue-green irises; his gaze was a bit glassy, still wet with grief, and he looked heart-achingly sad.

“Wanna tell me about it?” I asked quietly, still smiling softly down at him.

“Just…..so…..fucking….. _tired_ ……,” he managed to say between soft gulps of air, the sorrowful downturn of his mouth threatening another round of tears.

“Sshhhh..... I know pickle, I know,” I soothed, my hand in his hair again.  “Just a few more weeks and then you won’t have to go anywhere for months and months. For forever even, if that’s what you want.  And neither do I for that matter.  Handed in my notice yesterday.”

“You did?” He managed a weak smile, sniffing a little.

“Yup. As of next Friday, I shall be officially unemployed and you’ll be stuck with me!”

He buried his head in my t-shirt again but this time I could feel him smiling against me.  I hadn’t needed to work for a long time and it bothered him sometimes that I still worked as an accountant for someone else. 

‘Why work for someone else when you can come and work for me?’ he would say whenever I came home after a particularly shitty day.  ‘Be my fucking accountant instead.’

I’d been tempted, but I couldn’t quite face working at home in an empty house when he was away on set or on a promotion tour.  Being in an office full of people distracted me when he was gone.  But now we were getting married and he was going to take time off for the unforeseeable future; I didn’t want to waste a second of any of the precious time we had together.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he mumbled from somewhere in my abdomen.  He lifted up my t-shirt so he could press his face against my skin. He was hot and still a little bit wet from his tears but he felt reassuring.  I pulled out the collar of my t-shirt so I could see him underneath the fabric as he brushed his lips across my flesh.

“Could be.  You might decide you’re fucking sick of me in a week,” I said, lifting my t-shirt over my head so that were both under the fabric.  He smiled against me again as the light from the room shining through the pink fabric of my t-shirt cast a candyfloss glow across both of us. 

“I highly fucking doubt that, future Mrs. Renner.” He smiled up at me, that cheeky glint back in his bloodshot eyes and despite the tears and despite the long, long weeks apart, I was happy. 

We were happy.

Right there, under my t-shirt now damp with his tears, we were happy.


End file.
